


Orders To A Phoenix

by reaperlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Kill Bill (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassin!Harry, Assassins & Hitmen, BAMF Harry, Crack, Crimes & Criminals, Crossover, Dragons, Dumbledore Bashing, Gen, GodMode Sue Harry, Independent!Harry, Kung Fu, Martial Arts, Misogyny (courtesy of Pai Mei), Out of Character, Over the Top, Parody, Swords & Fencing, Swords & Sorcery, Training, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000, Xenophobia (courtesy of Pai Mei), jerk!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reaperlight/pseuds/reaperlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dumbledore wanted Harry to be raised as a weapon. He should've known to watch the wording.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orders To A Phoenix

**_The Hogwarts Hospital Wing, the night of Voldemort’s attack on the Potters._**

“You can’t do this! You have no right! I watched those muggles all day, Albus—they’re horrid! That’s no place to raise James and Lily’s son!” 

“Minerva, you don’t understand. Young Harry needs to be kept someplace safe. He needs to be raised away from his fame so he can be properly prepared for his destiny.” The headmaster explained in a haughty, condescending tone. 

“So you intend that he be trained as a weapon?!”

“Yes.”

“He’s a child, Albus!” 

“It’s for the greater good, Minerva. Harry needs to be raised somewhere away from his fame that’s safe from Death Eaters…” 

“But who will protect him from his relatives? I cannot in good conscience send a child into an abusive home! Please, Albus. I’ll take him in. I can strengthen the wards on my own home. I’ll make sure he’s raised right... “

“This is not up for discussion Minerva! Fawkes!” 

The phoenix suddenly appeared in a fire burst overhead. 

Dumbledore hadn’t expected Minerva to be this against his decision and now he worried that if he left the boy on the porch like a bottle of milk as he had originally planned she might try to kidnap the boy. 

He wasn’t going to take any chances (he’d deal with Minerva later.) 

“Harry needs to be raised away from his fame! He needs to be kept safe from Death Eaters until the time comes and he needs to be prepared for his destiny! I cannot afford to see him coddled! Take him there now, Fawkes!” Dumbledore ordered. 

Fawkes would take Harry right to the house and the muggles would be put under a strong compulsion charm to keep the boy alive. 

In response the phoenix trilled a lachrymose song before grasped his talons around the sleeping infant and then disappeared again in a flash of flame. 

However Dumbledore made a slight mistake when handing the baby Harry off to the Phoenix—he did not specify that Harry should be placed with the _Dursleys_ and so the ever-loyal Fawkes took a literal interpretation of Dumbledore’s orders, delivering the sleeping baby to a place that exactly fit the headmaster’s specifications…

***

**_An undisclosed location in China_ **

The student shouldered the two pails of water, careful that they were level—Master would say “begin again” if the water sloshed too much—and prepared for yet another trek up the fog-covered mountain. This was attempt twelve for today but numbers hardly mattered—they would continue until Master was satisfied. The student had almost succeeded in struggling up to the top of the mountain when the buckets spilled again—it was a consequence of the student instinctively catching the falling infant that had suddenly appeared in front of her in a ball of flame. 

The student, one Beatrix Kiddo, codename Black Mamba, was an assassin for the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad and a very good one at that. She couldn’t begin to guess how many people she’d killed seeing as she tortured and killed on such a regular basis but she had to draw the line somewhere and that was children; she wouldn’t harm children if she could help it. Master was on her in a flash, screaming his usual tirade of “useless foreign bitch.” The blonde expertly dodged the old master’s flying kick and fell back in a defensive position in order to protect the child. Of course Pai Mei wouldn’t stop or give her a chance to explain herself—just like the enemy wouldn’t allow you to pause and go “hang on a minute” on the battle field. Pai Mei hummed and stroked his beard in approval at his pupil’s actions. His student was learning even if the pace was painstakingly slow. 

“What is this? Damned woman! Can’t keep your legs crossed! I told Bill no women! They start popping out babies during training!”

Kiddo reminded herself that it was a high honor to train with Master Pai Mei… even if he was a misogynist, xenophobic asshole. He was THE MASTER. The greatest martial artist to ever walk the Earth and, rumor had it, he was over four hundred years old and still kicking it. She also remembered that it was a bad idea to mouth back to Master, recalling the cautionary tale Bill related to her over a campfire of how Pai Mei once killed a group of monks for not acknowledging his slight nod of the head in greeting. Pai Mei was always screaming at her but she knew if she really upset him she would, at the very least, lose body parts. 

“Please, Master… It’s not mine.” That much should’ve been obvious. They baby was too old and too clean but she wasn’t about to tell the Kung Fu master that he had now and forever failed sex ed. “ He just appeared in a ball of fire, Master.” 

Any further scathing remarks Pai Mei had in store for her were cut off by the lilting song of a strange orange bird. 

Pai Mei actually looked surprised. “Fenghuang?!” 

Was he to believe that this boy was brought here by a phoenix, a portent of good fortune? Pai Mei sneered, he hated foreigners, but he couldn’t deny the latent power and potential of this child. At least this one wasn’t a woman. 

Pai Mei stroked and then tossed his lengthy white beard over his shoulder before giving his student and the child a curt nod. 

“Now take the child up to the temple and then begin again!” 

It was decided then. He would begin training this one as soon as he learned to walk but he would begin teaching immediately… 

“Oh, and you will be changing his diapers, woman.” 

***

**_London, 15 years of abusive training later…_ **

“…And whose throat is this?” 

“Uh… Suh…” stammered the man with the sword pressed against his throat. 

“What’s that? Can’t hear you?” the boy mocked in a sing-song voice, as his blade nicked the man’s skin, drawing blood. 

“Severus Snape,” the potions master hissed out through gritted teeth. 

He couldn’t believe this! That he’d been disarmed and… and _humiliated_ by this mere boy! The cranky dungeon bat glared impotently at the boy that had stolen his wand with his black pits of pure loathing.

The feeling was mutual—not five minutes ago the boy had just been sitting in the corner of a muggle Chinese restaurant (or rather what passed for Chinese food in London). Dragons decorated the walls (or rather what muggles thought dragons looked like. He was sure that Pulao, his Chinese Fireball friend, would get a kick out of just how _wrong_ they all got it.) The other restaurant patrons avoided the boy—unnerved by the sight of the thousand yard stare on one so young. Cold, jade eyes scanned over his immediate surroundings, constantly vigilant for potential threats. That he was blasting “Bad Company” from his newly stolen stereo that he had set upon the table next to the faux dragon teacups might have had something to do with it too. You see he was enough of a badass (or rather enough of an _asshole_ ) to get away with it. It left no doubt in the potions master’s mind that the boy before him was James Potter reincarnated. 

The boy had then set down his copy of the Daily Prophet with the headline reading **_“Lucius Malfoy Found Murdered In His Own Home”_** to channel his _qi_ (or what Snape would later identify as “wandless magic”) discreetly summoning his rice bowl to him from where the cantankerous waitress had placed it across the table—you just can’t get good service these days. The boy took a bite and frowned—it was absolutely deplorable. The teen wondered if the chef had given him a little something extra—like his own saliva in the mix (perhaps that was the special sauce…) He ate it anyway (he prided himself on his iron stomach and he had long ago learned to never to turn down a meal) but he briefly considered killing the chef. He resolved to, at the very least, leave no tip and considering the poor quality of the food he might as well get this meal for free and turn this into a “dine and dash.” 

This would be the part where his friends would complain that he was being too nice. After all, O-ren would’ve chopped the waitress' fucking head off for slighting her. But then he wasn’t O-ren , nor was he a female Yakuza leader of mixed heritage with something to prove. The boy himself preferred to limit his murders to the deserving… or when he was getting paid (and he only took the jobs when he thought the target had “earned it.”) Well at least Vernita Green thought his lingering sense of morality was “cute.”

His latest target, one Lucius Malfoy, had, as Budd would so eloquently put it, screamed like a bitch when he died. The boy found it fitting considering he was one of those “I-have-magic-powers-so-I’m-better-than-everyone” assholes. To add insult to injury the boy hadn’t even bothered using his own mystical powers when he confronted him, and had subdued him only using hand to hand combat—and nothing even so fancy as the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique either. No, just a couple of nerve strikes and the blonde went down. It was pathetic, really. 

The green-eyed boy was torn out of his musings when another screech rent the air (impressively loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of his stereo). He nearly planted his face into his bowl of noodles ducking the owl. The teen cursed and raged against the injustice of the world and how he’d so very much like to go one afternoon without any of this shit happening to him. He had it all planned out too—he and Budd and O-ren were going to go watch the latest Tarantino flick later this afternoon and Budd’s ten gallon cowboy hat would block the view of the screen of the other patrons who would complain and then they would get their afternoon kendo practice. Then they would kick over the mound of corpses and resume their viewing and Budd would pass him a Red Apple cigarette that he shouldn’t be smoking because they were in a theatre and Master said it was bad for his health and all but then, what the hell, he could very well die tomorrow… (Aw, fuck that! Waxing all sentimental...) And after the movie they'd all go out for Big Kahuna burgers!

The boy cursed and swiftly left the establishment, leading anyone tailing him down a dark alley where there would be fewer witnesses. He wasn’t asking much. He just wanted one afternoon to relax, have lunch after a job, but _no._

No, his stalkers had found him again.

In a motion disguised to look like he was rubbing the back of his neck; the teen idly fingered the hilt of his katana for comfort from where the hilt of it poked out of the back of his enchanted, finely green-streaked black leather riding jacket. His weapons were glamoured so they couldn’t be seen unless he dropped the spell and his jacket was enchanted to act like a bag of holding so that he might carry any number of weapons on his person. His Master had despised the art of the samurai sword but Black Mamba had insisted he learn and he was glad for it. His katana wasn’t one of the legendary Hanzō swords but then the boy supposed that the year he got a Hanzō sword for Christmas would be the year Santa delivered B.B. that pony and Gatling gun combo she wanted. The sword gave him comfort, knowing it was there, strapped under his jacket alongside the shotgun Budd (his favorite “uncle” who he had then only known by his alias “Sidewinder”) got him for his birthday even though he knew he didn’t need it—his body was a deadly weapon as was his _qi_ , but he just liked having them there. He’s kept his weapons close since he was very young, like a normal child might carry a security blanket or a teddy bear—these gifts from his family. Sure, they weren’t a typical family but they were his family and he would never desire another one and the young assassin very much resented those who kept trying to take him from them. 

Snape wouldn’t notice the muggle weapons until it was far too late. 

The teen launched himself at the attacking wizard when he heard the crack of displaced air behind him, his body contorted in ways that seemed physically impossible in order to dodge the stunner before he was pinning Snape to the alley wall. The boy had moved too fast for him to track it, he hadn’t seen how it happened but Snape was well aware of the aftermath—his arm broken in three places and his wand now belonged to Mr. Potter. 

“How many times do I have to tell you people to stop sending your _fucking owls?!_ ” the teen snarled. 

Snape was about to reflexively take away points from Gryffindor for language when he remembered that the boy wasn’t a student nor was he a member of any House—indeed, that was why Snape was here wasting his afternoon in Muggle London because Albus somehow expected to turn this apparent street trash into their Chosen One weapon for the Light.

The potions master squirmed, his normally stoical features contorted in pain as he felt the crushing, overwhelming force of the boy’s magic bearing down on him. The teen quirked an eyebrow when his attacker identified himself. 

“Severus Snape? As in the potions master at Pig Butt’s?”

“ _Hogwarts!_ ” the cantankerous man corrected through gritted teeth “And what do you know of it? How do you know who I am?” 

The boy tilted his head slightly and gave his prisoner a look as if the potions master was a particularly interesting bug under a magnifying glass. 

“Know your enemy.” The teen murmured darkly. 

“Mr. Potter…”

“Fênggé,” the teen corrected automatically. 

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“ My name is Fênggé. Li Fênggé. Or Fênggé Li if we’re going by English naming conventions.”

“Fe… Fuh…?” Snape sneered as he embarrassingly stumbled over the foreign name. 

“Fênggé. It means “Phoenix Chamber” The boy corrected with a smirk.

“Your name is _Potter!_ ”

“My name is _Fênggé_ and I’m done arguing with idiots. You will address me as Fênggé or is that too difficult with your diminished mental capacities?” 

Snape blinked in confusion—it’s not every day that he encountered someone who was more of a jerk than he was—such abilities were usually reserved for Dark Lords and conniving Headmasters.

“I’ll concede that someone here has diminished mental capacities, Mr. Potter…” 

“I suppose you can call me the Cross Adder if that’s _easier_ for you to say,” the teen hissed dangerously. 

“Th-the Cross Adder?!” For the first time the professor really looked at the young man in front of him… and he knew fear. The teen had bleached blonde hair that was darkened at the roots suggesting that was not his natural hair color and he had made use of muggle hair dyes. There were no glasses to hide Lily’s damned green eyes. Those eyes combined with that arrogant attitude left no doubts in Snape’s mind regarding the boy’s parentage. But then, they weren’t really Lily’s eyes. Lily’s eyes sparkled with life. Lily’s eyes were never this hard or this dull or this haunted. Lily did not have the eyes of killer. Not like this boy. This was a boy who had spent his whole life learning how to not just _fight_ but kill. The boy could kill, _had_ killed, and would easily kill again. The teen was slender but not unhealthy but his slight frame belied the strength and power he had already demonstrated. Snape could _feel_ the latent power of the boy’s magic and had the sinking feeling that he was telling the truth—that he was the Cross Adder.

The name Cross Adder was well known in Knockturn Alley—seeing as he was one of the greatest assassins known to the magical world. The Ministry had a “kiss on sight” order issued just for him. He was the guy you went to if you wanted to kill the “invincible, the untouchable.” It was said that he would slay gods provided you could pay his exorbitant fees. For this boy to announce that he was the Cross Adder suggested that he was either very confident or very stupid. 

“…So if you could please remind your master of what I have previously told him—that I that I will not, nor will I ever be attending his school—tell him that I should hope that he realizes this before Pig Butt’s needs to start looking for a new headmaster. “

At this proclamation Snape almost breathed a sigh of relief. Though he’d have to report the mission a failure Snape was glad that this… _hellion_ wouldn’t be attending Hogwarts—until now he hadn’t thought it possible but… he was even worse than James! Still he was obligated to put up a token protest. 

“Now see here, Pot… _Lee,_ you can’t just go around threatening—”

“It’s not a threat,” Fênggé stopped the potions master mid-rant. “It’s a promise”.

“All magical children must attend a magical school in order to gain control of their accidental magic! It’s the law!” 

Snape might have kept some nasty company (such as say… Wizard Hitler) yet his blood still froze as the teen chuckled diabolically—the insane edge to his cackling made his guts squirm. Well, you’d expect such er… mannerisms on snake-faced dark lords sooner than you would on a teenaged boy that had the eyes of your childhood sweetheart. 

“Do I look like someone who cares about the law?”

Snape felt the boy’s magic flare. In the intensity of that oppressive aura the potions master struggled to breath. 

“I am an assassin by trade and a sorcerer second—though I have already harnessed my mystic powers so I can assure you I won’t ever hurt anyone… by accident,” the young assassin’s grin did nothing to assure him. 

No, this obviously wasn’t the golden child Albus had imagined. 

Just as suddenly the teen released him. Snape staggered, gasping for breath, and leaned against the alley wall for support as he glared at James Potter Jr. murderously. The boy was completely unconcerned and even paused to examine his fingernails. 

“So…. unless you have someone you need dead I really have no further business with you people.”

“Er… now that you mention it…” What if kung fu really was the power that the dark lord knows not? “There is a dark wizard that’s been… troublesome.” 

The teen scoffed at that. “I just killed a dark wizard for my last job. It was embarrassing how easy it was.” 

“He’s not just any dark wizard, he’s the _Dark Lord._ ” 

“Lucius Malfoy seemed to think he was some kind of ‘Lord’ too. The fool’s now Lord of the Maggots,” the young assassin flashed him a lunatic grin that put his eyeteeth on display and would have even frightened a Lestrange. The teen flicked out a business card that floated over into Snape’s hand via a pulse of wandless, wordless magic.

“If you wish to hire my services, call that number, ask for Bill. Mind you we only do the tough jobs so if you’re just mad at some two-bit piece of trash than don’t waste our time.”

The teen than arrogantly turned his back on Snape to causally stroll away; sauntering down the alleyway while whistling some strange tune that sounded vaguely oriental and vaguely ominous. 

Snape allowed his quarry to escape (he was more trouble than he was worth) and idly looked over the business card the boy had handed him. On one side of the card was the name “Bill,” a phone number, and a hastily scribbled warning reminding that owls made good barbeque and he had a friend who was into taxidermy. On the other side of the card was a proud picture of a snake that, unlike wizarding pictures, strangely stayed static. (The potions master suppressed a shudder. What if James’ hellspawn had ended up in HIS House?) Next to the snake was a logo that read “D.V.A.S.” Snape actually chuckled at that—criminals calling themselves DIVAS. No, Snape couldn’t think of anywhere more appropriate for James Potter’s brat.


End file.
